


abuse at your hands, broken at your feet

by snarkymuch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, May's Abusive Boyfriend Trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: May’s abusive boyfriend tropeMay’s boyfriend begins verbally and physically abusing Peter. Tony finds out—cue the Irondad moments.





	abuse at your hands, broken at your feet

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank Erica45 for looking over this and helping me when I got stuck. She also gets credit for helping with the ending few lines. This story just didn't want to end.

With a shaky hand, Peter guided his bedroom door shut. After it clicked closed, he let his mask drop, and he sucked in a stuttering breath, tears pricking at his eyes. Peter wiped at them furiously, demanding they not fall. He couldn’t let him win—he wouldn’t let May’s boyfriend make him cry. He was stronger than that. He was Spider-Man.

Walking over to the mirror in his room, he looked at his reflection. There was a red mark on his cheek from where John had slapped him moments earlier. It wouldn’t last long. It would fade before May got home. Pulling his hoodie up, he tugged his hands into the sleeves and curled up on his bed. It all felt like a bad dream. He could only hope that May would lose interest in him—sooner rather than later.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the warm sting of his cheek. It was early—only seven o’clock—but he didn’t feel like putting on the suit. John might notice him gone, and he didn’t want to face him if he got caught. The man had started staying the night weeks ago—that was when he had begun hurting him more. It had escalated from shouting to throwing things and then to grabbing and hitting him. It always happened when May was at work. She didn’t know, and Peter wasn’t going to tell her. He hadn’t seen her so happy in a long time. John was the first person she’d dated since Ben, and despite the way he treated Peter, he was good to May—always taking her out and buying her gifts. Peter would happily suffer a little to see her smile. It was worth it.

The night dragged on, and he didn’t leave his room. He skipped dinner—not wanting to leave his room with only John home. May wouldn’t be home until late since she was working a double at the hospital. With an aching, hungry stomach, he finally fell asleep a few hours before his alarm was due to go off.

When he woke that morning, he made swift work of the shower, getting dressed after in record time. He paused to look at himself in the mirror and frowned at his reflection. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his skin looked paler than usual. It reminded him of Mr. Stark when he’d spent too many hours awake, had too much coffee, and eaten no real food. Sighing, he realized he wasn’t far off from that. Since John, he’d been skipping more meals and missing sleep.

Tossing his dirty clothes and towel in the hamper, he tiptoed out of the bathroom, careful not to wake anyone. His stomach plummeted, though, when he reached the kitchen. John was leaning against the counter, sipping on a cup of coffee, ready to leave for work. He worked in construction and dressed accordingly, wearing a blue flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. The man’s eyes flitted over him before his jaw tightened and shook his head. “What’s with the raccoon eyes?”

Peter blinked, trying not to squirm under his gaze. “Um … I haven’t been sleeping well.”

The man hummed, motioning to him with the hand that held his coffee. “Do something about it then. I don’t need your aunt blaming me for your shit. Figure it out.”

Peter nodded, rubbing his hands on the denim of his jeans. “Sorry. I’ll try to fix it.”

John raised a brow. “Wanna try that again?”

Swallowing, Peter could feel his hands begin to shake. “Sorry, Sir.”

The man’s mouth twisted in a smirk. “You’re learning. I guess you do have a few brain cells in there.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I feel bad for your aunt—being stuck with you. I see it in how she looks at you. She regrets ever taking you in.”

John’s words stabbed him like a dagger to the gut, twisting and cutting, stealing his breath. The man’s words were echoing his own fears—that May didn’t want him. It wasn’t like she and Ben had planned on kids. He never wanted to be a burden or hindrance. Despite not wanting to believe him, he found John’s words settling in his bones—accepting them and letting them become part of his truth.

“Aren’t you gonna be late?” the man asked, turning and putting his cup in the sink. He grabbed his Carhartt jacket from the back of the kitchen chair, pulling it on. His gaze locked with Peter’s. “Make sure you get right home after school. I want you cleaning this pigsty up. Your aunt works hard to feed you. It’s the least you could do.”

Peter had decathlon practice after school. He’d already missed days thanks to John demanding he come straight home. If he kept skipping, he’d be thrown off the team. His hands twitched nervously at his sides, working in and out of fists. “I have practice today, though,” he pleaded, wetting his lips. “They’ll kick me off the team.”

John finished zipping up his coat and then closed the distance between them. Narrowing his eyes at Peter, he grabbed him hard by the upper arm and yanked him forward a step. Peter didn’t fight him, letting himself be dragged into the man’s space. He could smell his cheap cologne and a hint of soap. John nearly growled as he spoke, his fingers digging into his flesh. “Do I look like I care about your shit? A kid your age shouldn’t be playing with friends after school. They should have a job and be helping with the bills.” He shoved a hand into Peter’s chest. “Fucking ungrateful. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be here.”

Peter’s heart was pounding in his chest, and his mouth had gone dry. He shouldn’t be afraid of the man, it wasn’t like he could really hurt him, but he found himself frozen in fear. Rooted to the spot, his eyes were wide, and he was afraid to speak, caught somewhere between wanting to run and flinching back. Clearing his throat, he said in a trembling voice, “Yes, Sir.”

Looking disgusted, John grunted and pushed past him, shoulder knocking into him. Peter cringed back but kept frozen to the spot, his gaze on the sink. Once he heard the door close, his shoulders slumped, and he released the breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

May’s voice coming from behind startled him. “Morning, sweetie.” She ruffled his hair as she made her way to the cupboard to get a mug before pouring a cup of coffee. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she had her tatty, pink robe pulled around her. Leaning against the counter, her gaze raked over him, brows pinching together. “You feeling alright? You don’t look so good.”

Remembering John’s warning, he nodded quickly. He didn’t need to worry May. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He shrugged, anxious hand brushing his curls to the side. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

She sipped on her coffee, studying his face. “Well, try going to bed earlier. I know what it’s like being young, but you need your sleep.”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah—sure.” He tried to give her a smile, but even to him, it felt strained. “I gotta go—I’m gonna be late.”

Setting her coffee down, she walked over, pulling him into a hug. She tugged him down so she could place a kiss on his head. “Larb you.”

Peter chuckled. “Larb you, too.”

The day seemed to drag on. MJ wasn’t pleased with him dropping out of another practice—Mr. Harrington even issued him a warning. If he missed another, he was off the team. As soon as Flash heard about it, he spent the day rubbing it in his face. There had been no escape.

So, basically, his day sucked, and he didn’t have anything good waiting at home. May was working late again, and John was gonna be staying over for the weekend. They would be stuck alone for hours every evening. He didn’t want to think about what could happen.

When he got home after school, he put away his bag, and with a sigh, began to wash the few dishes and clean the counters. Once that was done, he checked the time and then began to scrub the cabinets. John hadn’t given him a list. He just hoped what he did was good enough. His stomach grumbled, and Peter realized he had barely eaten, so he grabbed a granola bar and wolfed it down. It didn’t satisfy his hunger, though, so he opened the fridge and pulled out a package of deli meat—stealing a few slices. He knew he shouldn’t, it was for John’s work lunches, but Peter was starving, and a few slices wouldn’t be noticed. Feeling a little better, he went back to cleaning.

Peter’s phone rang from where he’d placed it on the table. Without even looking, he had an idea who it was. He’d been avoiding Mr. Stark for weeks—declining his calls and barely wearing the suit. He’d even missed their scheduled lab time last week, but John had wanted him home, so he couldn’t go.

Walking over to the table, he looked at the still ringing phone—the familiar Iron Man mask on the screen. With a twinge of guilt, he swiped to decline the call. So much of him wanted to answer—wanted to confess everything that had been going on—but he couldn’t. He needed to tough it out for May.

A second after declining the call, the phone rang again, and again, it was Mr. Stark.

With a shaky hand, Peter picked up the phone. Chewing his lip, he considered answering it, but he didn’t want to lie, and he knew he’d have to. Tensing his jaw, he declined the call again, and before it could ring again, he turned it off, dropping it back on the table. Picking his rag back up, he went back to cleaning. John would be home soon.

Twenty minutes later, while Peter was scrubbing the bathroom, there was a knock at the door. He pulled his gloves off, leaving the cleaning supplies on the floor. He checked the time, it was still a little early for John, and he had a key anyway. He had no idea who it could be.

As he approached the door, there was another loud set of rapping against the wood. Peter leaned against the door, peering through the peephole. He pulled back, his breath catching as he realized who was on the other side.

Mr. Stark.

What was he doing there? John would be home at any moment. Peter needed to get him out of there. Quickly unlocking the door, he pulled it open and plastered on the best smile he could muster—which wasn’t that great. He was shaky and nervous, and he knew it. “Hey, Mr. Stark! What are you doing here?”

Tony was dressed in what Peter had come to know as his casual look—jeans with a graphic tee and suit jacket, a pair of tinted glasses perched on his face. The man pulled the glasses off, letting them hang from his fingers before tucking them in the pocket of his jacket. His brows lifted as his gaze flitted over Peter, coming to rest on his face. Seeming to see something there, his lips pursed. “Why do you look like me after three days with no sleep?”

Peter stood awkwardly, looking away, and then running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing. I just haven’t been sleeping good—school and stuff.”

The man hummed and then tipped his head. “You going to invite me in?”

Peter felt a wave of panic, his palms beginning to sweat. “Yeah, sure.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Sorry.”

Tony strolled into the living room, pausing to look at the few pictures scattered across the entertainment center and shelves. Putting his hands in his pockets, he turned to Peter. “We should talk. Let’s sit—you wanna sit?” He motioned to the couch as he walked over to take a seat. He patted the other cushion when Peter didn’t move. “This is what I mean. Something’s up with you. A few months ago, you’d already be rambling about decathlon and churros by now.”

His eyes fell on the clock beside the TV. Any minute and John would be slipping his key into the door. If he saw Tony … He didn’t know what would happen later. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Kid?”

Peter jumped, and he rubbed his hands against his legs. “Thanks for coming over, Mr. Stark, but I got like a ton of homework to do. I swear. Everything’s fine—like the finest. Nothing to worry about. So, if you could, you know.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Please.”

If anything, Tony looked more concerned. “What’s going on?”

That’s when he heard it—keys jingling in the lock. Peter looked back and forth between the door and Tony. He felt himself pale and grow shaky.

“Kid?” Tony asked, getting up and stepping around the couch toward him.

Peter flinched and took an involuntarily step back, his eyes snapping to his mentor. Tony blinked at him, the lines of his face going tight as the color drained away. Peter’s eyes danced between him and the front door, his throat tightening as the knob turned then unlatched. Before he could do anything, John was pushing his way into the apartment—at first not seeing them. Then his eyes flicked upwards, and Peter’s blood ran cold. He could see the anger etching itself across his features.

The lines of his brow deepening, John glanced between them before landing on Peter. “I didn’t know you were planning on company.”

Peter opened his mouth to stammer a reply, but Tony beat him to it. “I invited myself.”

John’s eyes seemed to harden as they cut into Peter before moving to Tony. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m John,” he said, he shucked off his jacket, tossing it on the back of the couch. “I’m pretty sure I know who you are. Why you here?”

Tony titled his head to the side, his face unreadable in a way Peter wasn’t used to as he studied John. “Here for Peter, actually. He interns for me, but he’s slacking off. Not showing up. Not answering calls. Thought it was time I dropped in to see what was up.”

John huffed, nodding a little. “He’s definitely irresponsible. It’s like pulling teeth to get this kid to do anything. The laziest kid I’ve met—won’t get a job. Kids weren’t like this back in our day.”

Tony hummed in agreement, and Peter felt his heart twist. Did Mr. Stark really agree with him?

“I hope you’re teaching Peter right,” Tony said casually. “He’s got potential, but he needs a firm hand. You know what I mean?”

Peter felt tears coming to his eyes and a painful lump forming in his throat. He felt betrayed in the worst way. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He could handle it from John, but not from Tony. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

John laughed, a dark smile twisting his face. “Oh, don’t I know it? I’ve already had to knock him around a few times to keep him in line. He should count himself lucky I haven’t pulled out the belt yet.”

Peter felt like curling up and letting the darkness inside him pull him under. He wrapped his arms around himself, fingers digging into his sides. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out everything else, but something cut through. It was Mr. Stark’s voice, and it sounded cold and detached and deadly in a way he’d never heard before. Peter opened his eyes to see him stalking closer to John.

“I think you should be the thankful one.” The detached tone of his mentor’s voice sent a shiver through Peter. “Thankful Peter’s here, because if he wasn’t, you don’t want to know what I’d do.” He glanced at Peter. “It’s gonna be okay, kid. I'm here."

Peter nodded as things began to click together and make sense.

“Look, this isn’t what you think,” John tried, putting his hands up. “You agreed with me. You know what it’s like.”

Tony laughed, but it didn’t hold a touch of humor. “I know what it’s like better than most. I had a father just like you.”

Peter’s eyes went wide at his confession. He had no idea that his father had been like John. He watched as Mr. Stark stood a few feet from the other man, his hands going to his pockets and his head tilting to the side.

John’s lips pressed into a line, his jaw moving slightly from side to side. “You can’t prove anything.”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe—or maybe you’re underestimating me.”

“It’s illegal to record someone without their approval.”

Tony huffed a dry laugh. “Actually, it’s not—at least not in New York. Don’t worry, though. I’m not calling the police.” He fished out his phone, tapping at the screen. “I’ll leave that for May to decide.”

“No!” Peter lunged forward, grabbing at Tony’s sleeve. He couldn’t call her. She would blame herself. It would break her.

Tony's expression softened, and he sighed. Shaking his head, he placed a hand on Peter’s. “Kid, I have to.”

Peter watched in horror as Mr. Stark hit the call button, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, May … No, he’s alright … I’m actually at your apartment … Can you duck out of work? … Yeah, this is important … More important than that … See you soon.”

Tony reached over and gave Peter’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Peter felt the tingle of his spidey-sense just in time to see John’s fist drawing back, ready to strike his mentor. Instinctively, he pushed him out of the way, causing John’s fist to collide with him instead.

Before he could even feel the sting, he heard Tony growl and then lunge. “Wrong move, asswipe.”

He’d never seen him fight without his suit, but he moved swiftly. He dodged another attack and then landed a perfect punch to John’s face, sending him reeling back and falling to the floor. His limbs lay sprawled, blood dripping from the gash above his eye.

Mr. Stark gave him a tap in the ribs with his foot. John was out cold. Smiling, he looked at Peter. “Not bad for an old man.”

Peter tried to return the smile, but the emotions from everything were hitting him all at once, so instead, his lip trembled, and he found himself wiping at his eyes. Not wanting to fall apart in front of his mentor, he tried to turn away to escape but was stopped when a hand gently grabbed his arm. He looked up to see Tony, his expression soft and open, his other arm held out at his side. Peter knew it was an invitation—an offer of comfort—and it was all he needed to come undone.

He fell against his chest as a strangled sob escaped him, hands clutching at his jacket. He buried his face in the expensive fabric and let himself fall apart. Strong arms wrapped around him and held him close, one hand on his back and another holding the back of his neck. His knees began to give under the weight of emotion, and he folded to the floor, but the man didn’t let him go, following him to the ground. His sobs eventually quieted, and they sat together in silence as they waited for May to get home.

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” Tony asked after a while. “This is on him.”

Peter shrugged, leaning into his mentor’s side. “May was happy.”

Tony sighed, arms tightening around him. “You being hurt would never make her happy, and guys like him, it was only a matter of time before he turned on her, too.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course, I am. Genius, remember?”

The door to the apartment opened, and Peter looked up. May stood frozen for a moment, gaze moving over the scene. He could see her brain working as she looked between John and where Peter sat with Tony. Something that looked like fury crossed her features. Her gaze locked on Tony. “If he touched my kid, he better be dead.”

Tony snorted and placed a hand on the back of Peter’s head, holding him closer. “I’ll look away if you want to have a go. Plausible deniability.”

May’s expression hardened even further, and she shot John’s sleeping form the deadliest look Peter had ever seen her wear—even more than when she found out about Spider-Man. Dropping her bag where she was standing, she came over to them, crouching to be at his eye level. “Sweetheart, how long has this been going on?”

Peter’s nose scrunched, and he resisted hiding his face in Tony’s shirt. He wouldn’t, he wasn’t a kid, but he did look down. “Couple weeks,” he mumbled.

“That’s a lie,” Tony cut in. “He stopped being as bubbly more than a month ago.”

May sighed, perched on the coffee table and held her arms out. Peter immediately untangled from his mentor to climb into her embrace. He did end up hiding in her shirt then, pressing his face into the fabric of her scrubs.  She shushed him and ran trembling fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered against her, settling beside her on the coffee table but staying in her arms.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she soothed. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. God—did this happen when I was home?”

Peter shook his head. “No, no, only—” He started, but then it felt like a hand clamped over his throat. He could say it now. He could. He tried, but it felt like his voice was gone.

Tony sighed from behind them, and the man pushed himself to his feet. He shuffled over and sat across from them on the couch. He pushed Peter’s shoulder lightly to get his attention. “This?” He motioned between Peter and where John lay. “This is not your fault. Scum like him—they’re just compensating for something they don’t have.”

May pursed her lips. “He was fairly small.”

Peter jerked his head. “Ew! Oh my god! That’s—ew!” He shivered but couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

Tony, on the other hand, gave a genuine belly laugh, while May smirked. “Now,” she started, “where’s my gun?”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr if you want. [Snarky-drabbles](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
